Whiskey
by Liari
Summary: AU Oneshot. Dark and bitter, this tale speaks for itself. I leave it up to you, dear Reader, to make of it what you will.


_A/N- Okay, so this is a leeetle darker than normal, but I wanted something up and this is one of my established pieces. I thought you guys deserved at least SOMETHING while I've been on my butt, so here you are. A rather depressing little ditty, but...well. I'll leave most of it up to your own imaginings, but just think...what if? _

She gazed at the bottle, through it, the glass heavy and cool in her hand. The amber liquid inside it gleamed with the light of the single lamp. The lamp was the only bit of frivolity in the entire apartment; shaped like a little sun, it shone merrily in the midst of the bare practicality. Eggshell walls, beige carpet, faded couch and pressboard table; all served a purpose, had a role. The lamp was just to remind her of daylight and laughter, and cruel as it was she could not let it go.

Before, she had had pictures, colorful blankets and pillows to put on the couch, throws with geometric patterns, but such things were pointless now. Now she was alone, and the color had leached from her life as surely and completely as her friends. It wasn't their fault, though. She had begun to change, and there was nothing they could do.

She opened the bottle, the spicy-sweet scent drowning her senses as she knew it would. She inhaled deeply, almost tasting it at the back of her throat. Soon, she knew, _he_ would come. She breathed out, and only the knowledge that the contents of the bottle would help her forget let her breathe back in again.

000

She had met him one night when the moon was dark and all her friends were busy. She'd had a bad day at work and had needed to unwind. So, she headed for her favorite bar and took a seat at the counter. The bartender knew her from her weekend outings with friends and took one look at her before plunking down her favorite drink with a muttered "No charge." She thanked him with a weary smile before she sipped at it and let it roll over her tongue. It was just what she'd needed. That was when he'd sat down next to her and started to talk. She couldn't remember what he had been talking about, but his voice had been like her drink: rich and smooth. She hadn't paid any attention to what he looked like, but sat entranced by his voice until he offered to walk her to her car. Once there, he had asked for her address. It never occurred to her that it was strange for him to ask for that rather than her number; she was too caught up in the mesmerizing cadence of his voice. She merely gave it to him, and looked up at him mutely as he leaned over her, one hand on her car. He bent down as if to kiss her, but his lips stopped just before they touched hers. He then whispered a strange word in a language that no mortal knew, and her lips tingled oddly. With that, he vanished, leaving her to get in her car and drive home, wondering if she had just imagined it all.

000

The glass on the table stood waiting for the caress of the honey-colored fluid, and so she obliged it. The splash of it against the side of the glass made her shiver, and her hand trembled, but not enough to spill a single drop. Filled to the brim, the liquid threatened to spill over the edge of the cup. Taking the glass in both hands, she carefully raised it to her lips and drank deeply. Sweet fire rushed through her veins, and the spice of it burned away that part inside of her that was always screaming. It had started its shrieking when he had breathed that word against her mouth, and it hadn't stopped since. Her inner core had recognized the meaning behind it, if not the word itself. It knew that for some reason she had been chosen, though she didn't know what for. That small bit of soul she had left was making its protestations known in the back of her mind, the dying cries of her heart constantly shrilling in her being. Except for times like now, times when the cool/hot drink flowed down her throat and into her body, making everything quiet.

000

He had come to her a month after their first meeting, and once again she was caught in his tangled web of words, his voice engulfing her in treacherous honey. He wrapped her in poisoned velvet with the music of his gilded serpent tongue, swathing her in it until she felt encased, bound by his every utterance. She couldn't move, entrapped in his weaving of symphonic resonance as he moved towards her, a gliding specter of cold grace and unknown intent. Once again he had bent as if to kiss her, and then instead murmured another strange word that thrummed against her lips. This pattern continued, every month for eight months; this would be the ninth. Every time the same thing, every whispered word disturbingly odd and different from the last. Every word in that forgotten, hidden language tying her closer and closer to him. It twined through her and into him, an eternal ouroboros. At first she had struggled, tried to break out of his casing of melodious articulation, harmonic enunciation, but it was no use. Every time he came, no matter how she had prepared herself or how she had told herself she would not listen, she would submit, bowed before the cruel magic of his voice. She slowly changed over those months, turning colder, more distant, detached. She pushed everyone away, watched alone as her world turned to shades of gray. It didn't matter anymore. Her quiet desperation, her silent hopelessness, was all she had. She knew she was becoming something else: she saw the shifts, the changes, but she just didn't know what it was that she was transforming into. Her senses were ten times stronger, her physical needs less, and she could no longer stand daylight. She missed the sun.

000

The glass was empty now. She had emptied it at least five times, if not more. The screaming inside had finally stopped after the third glass, the next two were just to make sure, and after that was the haziness she craved. He would be there soon. This would be the last time, the ninth month. This was the final act in this binding, the final word, the one that would strip her of her soul and forever chain her to him. She didn't know how she knew this, but she did. She could _feel_ it, in a way she didn't want to think about. She knew, and the knowing was torture.

She put down the nearly empty bottle, smiling at the black label. Good old Jack. He never let her down. He was always there when she needed him. That was the good thing about liquor; it was always there when you needed it, and even if you didn't. She had never known before what a balm it could be, had never needed it to be one. She had had drinks with her friends, but never drank like she did now, never to drown her very being. Now, the alcohol was the only thing that helped, the only thing that would silence the howling in her heart, the only thing that would let her forget. It was the only thing other than _him_.

She wasn't startled when a hand came down on her shoulder; he never announced himself, just entered soundlessly. She didn't know how he got in; at this point, neither did she particularly care. He brought her to her feet without a word. So, he wasn't going to use his voice this time; she was already broken, he no longer needed to. She just looked up at him, much as she had done that first time. He smiled and his lips shone darkly in the light of her little sun, mesmerizing her as they formed one word, a word that she could finally recognize, and it froze her blood: _mine_. He bent his head, and took her mouth with his, giving her her last kiss as a mortal. Her lamp sputtered and died as she surrendered to him, as she had known she would.

He tasted like whiskey.

_PS-I do not condone drinking yourself to death! This is bad, do not do it! Thank you._


End file.
